


Just so You're Mine

by paradis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU - Canon Divergent, Fluff, M/M, Sweet Home Alabama AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:25:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradis/pseuds/paradis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well now, this here is a domestic dispute,” he says calmly, shrugging. “I can’t do anything – Stiles still owns half the house.”<br/>Derek literally growls at his dad, eyes going red and all. His dad blinks back at him innocently. “Thank you,” Stiles says generously. He turns back to Derek. “Just sign the damn papers, Derek, and I’ll leave, <i>and</i> it’ll be your house.”<br/>“I’m not signing anything!”<br/>“I’ll just be on my way,” John says, inching towards the door.<br/>“What if I tell you how your patrol car got that huge scrape down the side?” Derek asks John, and his dad freezes. Stiles gasps, open mouthed and wide eyed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just so You're Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my WIP folder for six months at least and I posted a little blurb of it on tumblr months ago and then promptly started hating it right after. 
> 
> But then my beta MirajaneScarlet asked about it and pretty much challenged me to finish it and somehow, miraculously, I did finish something, for once. Also a million thanks to her for editing this fic so quickly, and talking out the entire plotline of it with me. 
> 
> It's a Sweet Home Alabama AU and there are actual lines from the movie taken and put into this fic, ones that I've got memorized by heart, and couldn't bear to leave out. ("You have a baby... in a bar!")

Thing Stiles did not expect today: being proposed to by the Mayor of New York’s out and proud son in the middle of New York’s finest Italian restaurant. With a _ring._ He’s down on one knee and everything. Stiles thinks, _this is so romantic,_ and then he thinks, _everyone is looking at me,_ so he says, “Yes,” loudly, blushing, and Ryan stands up and grins wide at him, and really, Stiles is pretty happy with his life at that moment.

+

The Mayor of New York does not like him. Stiles has been introduced to her several times, and every time, he’s greeted with a sneer and a smart remark that stings. Stiles likes when people like him. He’s a pretty nice guy, he likes to think, so most people do end up liking him. And it’s not because the Mayor is a homophobe – she’s a huge supporter of gay rights, has met with the President and the governor of New York a couple different times in support of gay rights – she just doesn’t like _Stiles._

Ryan says, “We’ll tell her at Thursday night dinner,” when they’re in the town car on their way to a benefit Ryan is pretty much required to go to. He’s a rising politician himself, a hotshot lawyer, and Stiles met him when he was taking his measurements for a custom tux because Stiles runs a design company now and spends his life taking measurements and trying to decide what’s going to look good on men in the spring, fall, winter and summer. Ryan wasn’t shy about making it known that he liked Stiles, and Stiles liked the way Ryan seemed confident of himself, happy, so he said yes when Ryan asked him out. 

They don’t get to tell her at Thursday night dinner, because the Mayor takes Stiles’ hand to pose nicely for pictures Tuesday night at a benefit dinner, and notices the ring on his finger, and shrieks, “ _You’re getting married?_ ” And Stiles’ wakes up Wednesday morning to his face plastered across the New York Times looking shocked and terrified as the Mayor glares at him with rage. 

Ryan comes out of the bathroom and laughs and kisses the top of his head and says it’ll be okay. Stiles absolutely does not believe him. 

What he does do is pack a bag and book a flight before calling Ryan. “I have something I gotta do back in California,” he tells him. Ryan sounds confused when he responds.

“I thought you hated California?” 

“I do – I just have to tie up a few loose ends that have needed tying up for a while. I figure – might as well do that before we start planning the wedding, right?” 

Ryan sounds like he’s smiling when he answers. “Sure, Ace,” he agrees. Ryan has been calling Stiles ‘Ace’ since they first started dating, because Stiles is exactly two weeks younger than him, and he thinks it’s funny. Stiles likes nicknames, pet names, so he likes when Ryan calls him it. As long as it’s not ‘babe.’ Because that takes him back too much. 

The flight isn’t long and the car is already rented and waiting for him when he lands. He spends the two hour drive to Beacon Hills with his palms sweaty, bracing himself. He pulls into his dad’s drive before going anywhere, and stares at the front of the house, dry-mouthed and nervous. 

By the time he’s finally getting the nerve to get out of the car, his dad is tapping on the driver’s side window, looking at him with an arched brow. Stiles rolls down the window. “Hey, Dad,” he says, offering a weak smile. 

“Son,” John says. “I’m surprised to see you here. Sitting. In the car. In my driveway. Can you tell me why you’re doing that, instead of making your way inside?” he asks politely. 

“Uh,” Stiles says. “Taking in the view?” 

“Uh-huh,” his father replies. “Well how about you take in the view from the kitchen and tell me what you’re doing back home.” 

Stiles heaves a sigh and his dad steps back while Stiles swings the door open, grabs his bag from the bag, and gets out. “I’ve already started coffee,” he tells Stiles as they walk into the house. It looks exactly the same, Stiles notices, grimacing. He’s used to living in a sleek, modern apartment these days, something that’s actually affordable to him given his rather large income. 

“So how is it, designing men’s dress clothes?” John asks. Stiles sniffs. 

“It’s like you look down on my job. I own a _company,_ Dad. A company.” 

John just blinks at him. “It’s fine,” Stiles huffs, dropping his bag on the floor and heading to the kitchen. 

“That’s nice,” John says pleasantly, but Stiles can tell he doesn’t really mean it. 

+

Stiles stares at the house that used to be his. There’s exactly one car sitting in the drive, which signals that there’s only one person home, and Stiles is, frankly, relieved. He doesn’t know if he could handle more than one person. He doesn’t even know if he can handle _one_ person. He doesn’t have a choice when Derek steps out onto the porch, though. 

“Well, well, well,” Derek drawls, leaning up against the door, arms crossed, checking Stiles out. “Look what the cat dragged in.” 

“Shut up,” Stiles says automatically. 

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” 

“I’m hoping to get you to sign these,” Stiles says, waving a yellow envelope around. Derek narrows his eyes.

“And what would those be?” Derek asks, playing nice. 

Stiles says, “Divorce papers, Derek. I want my divorce.” 

Derek says, “No,” and walks back into the house. He slams the door, and Stiles stomps up the porch steps. 

“You can’t just say no, Derek! It’s been five goddamn years and I don’t have the time or patience for this. You need to sign these.” 

“I’m not signing them,” Derek says, blinking at him on the other side of the door. 

“Yes you are,” Stiles says adamantly. “You’re signing them. Right now. You’re signing them _right now._ Look, I even brought a nice fountain pen. I know how serious you take your signature.” Stiles holds up the pen. Derek reaches up and tugs down a blind to try and block Stiles out, but the blind snaps back up. Stiles arches a brow. “Just sign them.” 

Derek pulls the blind down again and this time it stays. 

Stiles mutters under his breath as he kicks the welcome mat to the side and pulls out the spare key, shoving it into the lock and turning. The door falls open, and Stiles calls out, “Honey, I’m home!” as he steps inside.

 _This_ house looks exactly the same, and it almost takes Stiles’ breath away. “What the hell?” Derek growls, coming out of the kitchen. 

“You know, when a couple gets divorced and one husband gets the house, they might think to change the locks and hide the spare keys in a different spot,” Stiles says, dangling the key from his finger. Derek’s eyes flash. 

“Get out, Stiles, or I’m calling the police.” 

“The police,” Stiles says flatly. “As in, my father.” 

Derek calls his fucking father. 

+

“I don’t really see what I can do here,” John says uneasily, glancing between them. 

“He’s _trespassing,_ ” Derek says, gesturing to Stiles. “This is not his house.” 

“It is too!” Stiles says insistently. 

“Uh, son, I don’t think –” 

“It wouldn’t be my house if he would just _sign_ these,” Stiles says, brandishing the papers to his dad. His dad takes them and looks at them thoughtfully for a moment. 

“Well now, this here is a domestic dispute,” he says calmly, shrugging. “I can’t do anything – Stiles still owns half the house.” 

Derek literally growls at his dad, eyes going red and all. His dad blinks back at him innocently. “Thank you,” Stiles says generously. He turns back to Derek. “Just sign the damn papers, Derek, and I’ll leave, _and_ it’ll be your house.” 

“I’m not signing anything!” 

“I’ll just be on my way,” John says, inching towards the door. 

“What if I tell you how your patrol car got that huge scrape down the side?” Derek asks John, and his dad freezes. Stiles gasps, open mouthed and wide eyed. 

“Don’t you dare! Goddammit, Derek, don’t you _dare._ ” 

“I happen to know someone who thought it was a good idea to take a joyride in it one night, through the forest, where it made friends with a lot of jagged branches.” 

“Oh my god!” Stiles shouts. Dad narrows his eyes at him. 

Stiles never imagined being taken in handcuffs and shoved into the backseat of his father’s _still scraped up_ patrol car, but trust Derek to make it happen. 

+

When his dad finally stops yelling at him - _in the interrogation room_ he releases Stiles after Stiles writes him a hefty check for damages done to the car. He then tells Stiles to, “Get out of my face, go anywhere in town, I don’t care; I’ll pick you up when my shift ends,” because he refuses to drive Stiles back home. Stiles has to go to the bank and withdrawal a couple of bucks because he’s planning on taking his dad out for dinner to make up for all the stress he’s already caused him – not even twenty four hours into arriving back in Beacon Hills. 

When he gets to the bank, Greenberg is behind the counter. “Greenberg?” Stiles squints. 

“Yeah,” Greenberg grins. 

“You – ” 

“Look a lot different, I know,” Greenberg says. “Hey, I heard you and Derek are still married.” 

“Oh my god it’s been two hours!” Stiles shouts. Greenberg laughs. 

“Sure, but this here is Beacon Hills; we’re a small town, word gets around fast. Besides, Danny is your dad’s deputy; he saw you come in and heard you and your dad yelling. He texted me right after.” 

“Danny is Dad’s deputy? Danny and – you and Danny?” Stiles asks. Greenberg grins and nods. “Right, well. I wanna make a withdrawal.” 

“From your joint checking account?” Greenberg asks nonchalantly. Stiles freezes halfway from pulling his checkbook out of his pocket. 

“My what?” he asks lowly. 

Greenberg leans forward. “Way I hear it, you and Derek are still married. Derek’s still got your name on the checking account – what’s mine is yours, and all that.” 

Stiles thinks for a moment. “Yes,” he says slowly. “Yeah, you’re right.”

+

Stiles waits until the next night, makes sure the pack isn’t in the house, and uses the spare key that’s _still_ in the exact same spot to get inside and get to work. At 7:15 exactly, just like all the years Stiles has known Derek, Derek walks through the door. There’s a long silence while Derek apparently surveys the house, and then Stiles walks out of the kitchen. “Oh, hey there SugarBear,” he says, feigning a smile. “I’m just getting dinner finished up. Go on and have a seat.” 

“What did you do?” Derek growls. 

“What are you talking about?” Stiles asks innocently. 

“My _stuff,_ ” Derek grits out. “Where is my _stuff?_ ” 

“What kinda husband would I be if I just let your stuff clutter the place? I just made some changes – nothing big.” 

“There is a _new couch,_ ” Derek sounds like he’s trying really hard not to yell. Stiles shrugs. Derek stalks into the kitchen. “What the hell is this stove? The fridge?” he opens the door. “ _Where is the meat?_ ” He demands. 

“Vegan food, great for your body,” Stiles shrugs. Derek grabs a water bottle and chuckles. 

“Whatever you want,” he says. “It’s your money – I hear you make big bucks designing men’s clothes.” 

“Oh, but SugarBear,” Stiles sings, “I thought you said what’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine?” 

Derek squeezes the water bottle so tight water sprays everywhere, freezes, eyes flashing red, and claws lengthening. “I’m not entirely sure,” Stiles says, studying his nails. “But I bet the words ‘joint checking account’ is flashing through your mind right now.” 

Derek throws the water bottle across the room and shouts, “ _Jesus Christ, Stiles,_ ” slamming the fridge door shut. “How much did you take?” he asks.

“All of it.” Derek punches the wall. 

“Hey!” Stiles shouts back, “You want me to be here, I’ll fucking be here! I’ll clean your house and I’ll spend your money! But we both know you don’t want me here, so sign the damn papers and I’ll give you your money back. And what the hell, Derek, where is all that money coming from anyway? You’re not making that working at the garage!” 

Derek reaches over and snatches the papers out of Stiles’ hands. “You want me to sign them, fine, I’ll sign them!” He growls, and Stiles holds the fountain pen out for him. 

Derek sits down on the couch and angrily opens the envelope, pull the papers out, starting to look over them. Stiles breathes out, feeling like he can finally play nice now that Derek’s signing the damned papers. He looks around the house, notices all the things that haven’t changed. “You still have this,” Stiles says, walking over to the fire place and running his hands along the elegant frame holding one of Derek’s paintings hanging over the mantel. Derek huffs. “You know, I never imagined you’d be able to create something so… beautiful,” Stiles swallows. 

“Yeah,” Derek says, sighing. Stiles turns back around to look at him, offering a smile. “You know, I just remembered I have something to do tonight, and I still want to read these over – best to make sure you’re not trying to get my money or something.” 

“What – no – I don’t _want your fucking money,_ Derek, I want you to sign them.” 

“And I will,” Derek says, standing up and pushing Stiles toward the door. “I will. As soon as I’m finished reading over them, I promise.” 

“What the hell –” Derek shuts the door in his face. 

Stiles throws his arms up in the air in disbelief, and stomps down the porch steps. 

+

“So how is California?” 

Stiles snorts. “Just like I left it,” he tells Ryan. “Small town, boring people, annoying people.” 

“Now, Stiles,” Ryan says in a teasing voice. “You used to be one of those boring small town people, right?” 

“Sure,” Stiles shrugs. He’s about to walk into Dinger’s, the one bar in the entire town of Beacon Hills. 

“What’s that noise?” Ryan asks, sounding concerned. Stiles can hear classic country – Tammy Wynette, he thinks, crooning out into the night, and he heaves a huge sigh. 

“The miserable sound of my past coming back to haunt me yet again.” 

“In the form of Tammy Wynette?” Ryan asks, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh. 

“Oh, yes,” Stiles agrees somberly, “Probably Johnny Cash, too.” Ryan chuckles. “I gotta go. Talk to you later?” 

“Sure, Ace. Behave yourself.” 

“Ha, ha,” Stiles says sarcastically. “Love you.” Ryan repeats the endearment and they hang up. Stiles stares at the small building with its neon lights for a long moment before he says and marches forward, pushing the door open. 

“Hold the music!” He hears as he steps inside. He closes his eyes. He knows that tone. The music cuts off, and everyone turns to look at Stiles. “Look at this big city boy coming back to his home roots,” Erica coos, jumping over the bar and coming over to pinch Stiles’ cheeks. Stiles grimaces. “Here I thought you’d never come home again.” 

“I’m not coming home,” Stiles says after Erica has smacked a large, lipstick-y kiss against one cheek. He rubs it off and glares at her. “I’m just taking care of some stuff.” 

“Mmhhmmm,” Erica says. It sounds condescending. Stiles doesn’t appreciate it. 

“Stiles!” he hears as Erica disappears and the music starts back up again. Stiles turns around to face Allison. 

“Allison,” he says, and looks down at the baby in her arms. “Allison and a baby.” 

“Yeah!” Allison beams. 

“You have a baby… in a bar,” Stiles says uncertainly. 

“Yeah, well, she’s still breastfeeding and I couldn’t leave her at home with the babysitter quite yet – besides, Erica runs the place now, she doesn’t really mind. Plus it’s no smoking inside, so she’ll be alright.” Stiles eyes the baby tentatively. Allison rolls her eyes. “She’s not going to _bite,_ God, Stiles.” 

“You can’t know that, given her genes,” Stiles points out. Allison grins. 

“She’s not going to bite _yet,_ ” she says. 

Stiles turns to where Erica is tending the bar. “Ketel One, ice, lemon,” he tells her. “Make it big.” Erica rolls her eyes, but the drink is thrust into his hands a few moments later, and Stiles takes a sip, sighing. He makes his way to the back. The rest of the pack is there, playing pool. “Oh, boy,” Stiles says, because even after five years he has no filter, he swears. 

Derek freezes. Boyd doesn’t even look up from where he’s taking his shot. Isaac beams, says, “Stiles,” and tosses down his stick to come over and wrap his arms around him. Scott appears a second later and throws his arms around him, too. 

“Stiles!” he says. “It’s so good to see you!” 

“Hey, buddy,” Stiles says, patting one of their arms. 

“Now the whole pack is here!” Isaac says happily. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Stiles says, swinging his arms out, Ketel One sloshing over the side of his glass. “Easy there, buddy. I’m only here for a few days, and I’m not _pack._ ” Isaac looks sad. Derek snorts. 

“That’s right,” he says, taking his shot. The eight ball swerves, almost gets pocketed, but stops at the last second. “Way I remember it, someone got tired of _supernatural bullshit._ ” Stiles flushes. 

“Way I remember it, someone’s favorite thing to do during _supernatural bullshit_ was sideline me and come home afterwards and use me.” 

Derek straightens his spine. “Fuck you,” he says coolly. “That was never how it worked, and you know it.” 

“Hey, I thought we were playing pool,” Boyd says calmly. “Stiles, care to watch?”

“I’ve never been a sit back and watch kind of guy, as you well know, Boyd,” Stiles says, brow arched. “How about I join in?” 

Two hours later, Stiles is drunk on Ketel One and dominating the pool game. “Ha,” Stiles says, pleased with himself as he wins. “I always was better than everyone expected.” 

“Remember the night you blew that warehouse up?” Scott asks, and yeah. Stiles remembers. He was running off the supplies in his goddamn pockets and some mountain ash. Belief, Stiles realized that night, really is the most powerful thing there is. 

“How could I forget?” Stiles asks. “That was the night Derek cheated on me.” 

There’s total silence. “Why don’t you just go and tell the whole bar?” Derek asks, stiffening, sneering at him. 

“Oh come on, Derek, it’s not like everyone in this town doesn’t know everybody else’s business already! I mean, everyone knows about _Isaac._ ” 

“There’s no reason to start in on your friends, Stiles,” Derek growls. 

“Hey, we should stop,” Isaac says quietly. “Come on, Stiles, just – ” 

“Oh, come on, Isaac, just because the target is on you and Scott doesn’t mean you can try and stop me,” Stiles sneers drunkenly. Derek sighs, and the whole bar goes quiet. 

Scott says, “Stiles, that wasn’t necessary.” Derek steps forward and lifts Stiles up, throwing him over his shoulder and carrying him out of the bar.

“Put me down!” Stiles shrieks, punching him in the back. “Put me down, Derek!” Derek sets him down roughly and starts dragging him by the arm towards his car. “No,” Stiles yells, pulling away. “No, I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m going home as soon as I find my fucking keys.” 

“Knock it off, Stiles, you’re not driving by yourself anywhere. Get in the fucking car.” 

“Fuck you!” Stiles shouts. “Fuck you, okay, because you’re not better than me! You’re not _anything_ to me.” Derek reaches out and shoves him into the car, before tossing his keys to someone else. Stiles doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation because he’s too busy throwing up. 

+

Stiles wakes up in his childhood bedroom with a terrible hangover, feeling guilty. He walks downstairs to find his father standing over the coffeemaker, looking up at him judgmentally. “Don’t even,” Stiles grumbles, sitting at the table. 

“Derek left these,” Dad says, and pushes a yellow envelope across the table. Stiles eyes it for a moment before he reaches out and opens it. 

The divorce papers. Derek’s elegant signature scrawled on the second line. Stiles touches his fingers to his lips and breathes deep, closing his eyes. Dad slides a coffee mug across the table towards him next, and they sit there in silence, drinking coffee, while Stiles stares at the papers in front of him.

Eventually he gets showered and dressed, and makes his way out to the house. Derek is packing his car up with several bags. Stiles gets out of the car and shoves his hands in his pockets, walking up to him. “Where ya headed?” Stiles nods toward the bags. 

“Out of town,” Derek says, but it’s not unkind. It’s even kind of pleasant. Stiles lets that sink in for a moment. 

“I put the money back in the account,” Stiles says softly. 

“Thanks,” Derek says slowly. “I guess that’ll save me a lot of bounced checks.” 

“Derek, I’m really sorry,” Stiles blurts out. Derek freezes. “I just – I’m sorry about everything. Last night – everything, okay. I’m sorry it didn’t work out and I’m sorry that – that I just… needed to get out.”

“Yeah well,” Derek huffs, leaning down to rearrange the bags in the trunk and avoiding eye contact with Stiles. “You always were too good for this place, weren’t you? Had to go and make something of yourself.” 

Stiles doesn’t say anything for a long time. Derek says, “Look, I signed your divorce papers. I need to get going, Stiles. I don’t know what else you want from me.” 

Stiles kicks at the dirt. “You to accept my apology?” he asks softly. 

“Apology accepted,” Derek says. 

“Where are you going, anyway?” Stiles asks again. Derek offers him a smile, and Stiles feels almost blinded by it. He hasn’t seen it in so long. 

“Come with me,” Derek says suddenly, and Stiles feels his own smile falter. 

“Where?” 

“I want to show you something.” 

“Derek… Derek. I can’t.” 

“You can’t?” Derek asks, still smiling a little. “Or you won’t?” 

“Both,” Stiles responds. Derek nods. 

“I’ll see you, Stiles,” he says, and gets in the car. Stiles steps back so he can pull out of the driveway, and watches him leave, hands still in his pockets. When Derek’s down the road, Stiles makes his way up the front steps of the house, and knocks on the door. Isaac answers, and he gives Stiles a look that makes Stiles feel a thousand times guiltier than he already does. 

“Hey, Stiles,” he says sadly, and Stiles inhales.

“Hey, Isaac. Can I come in?” Isaac shrugs and steps aside. “I just… I’m sorry, Isaac. I’m sorry for – well I guess for outing you. I mean. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s a fine line between everyone knowing and not saying anything, and someone saying something about it.” 

Isaac stares down at his feet for a long moment. “It’s not like that anymore, you know, Stiles. I mean I guess it is. I’ll always love Scott, and I’ll always wish things could’ve been different. But Scott… Scott loves Allison more than life itself, and they’re married and have kids. Me? I’m not going to even get in between that. I’m getting better at moving on, Stiles, and what you did – it sucks. It sucks that you brought all that back up again.” 

“I know,” Stiles whispers. “I know, and I’m sorry. So sorry, Isaac.” Isaac shrugs again.

“Yeah, well. I have to go get ready for work, okay? I’ll see you later.” 

“Sure,” Stiles says, and watches Isaac walk away. 

Stiles walks outside only to find someone snapping pictures of Derek’s house and then of Stiles himself. He looks open mouthed and wide eyed at the camera. “Wow,” the guy says, pulling the camera away from his face, looking impressed. “You said you grew up on the preserve, but I never imagined the house being so gorgeous.” 

“Uh,” Stiles says, and then snaps his mouth shut. 

The guy walks up. “Jeffrey Thompson,” he sticks his hand out. “From the New Yorker. I was hoping to get an interview with you about the place you grew up, and to maybe see a bit of the house?”

“I was just heading out,” Stiles says hastily. 

“I can come back later?” he asks. Stiles grabs his arm and whirls him around, already frantically shaking his head.

“No, no, now is fine, I can do it now, no problem. Let’s just – we’ll –” He swings the door wide open and says, “See? There you go, house. Just like any other!” Jeffrey pushes him aside and steps inside and Stiles sighs. 

“This is really nice. It must have been great growing up here, out in the middle of the nowhere, with all the property to play on and explore.” 

“It was – there were some intense games of tag,” Stiles says, which is actually the truth, so he doesn’t even feel bad about saying it. Just, the games of tag didn’t occur when he was a little kid. 

Stiles hears footsteps and he pulls Jeffrey into the hall closet, shutting the door. “This,” he whispers shakily, “was my favorite room to play in as a kid.”

“The closet,” Jeffrey whispers back flatly. 

“Yes!” Stiles whispers defiantly. “It was nice and… full of coats.” 

“Why are we whispering?” 

“It’s a game I used to play with myself,” Stiles replies. “See how long you can stay in the closet without anyone noticing you.” 

The footsteps fade away, and Stiles breathes out. He opens the door, only to come face to face with Isaac. Stiles mentally slaps himself because, duh. Isaac is a werewolf with great hearing. Of course he knew Stiles was there. “Stiles,” Isaac says uncertainly. 

“Isaac,” Stiles says warmly, plastering a smile to his face. 

“What are you doing in the closet?” 

“I was just showing Jeffrey from The New Yorker my – our – the family’s childhood home,” Stiles stutters. Isaac stares back and forth between them for a few moments, before he nods. 

“Right,” he says slowly. He sticks his hand out. “I’m Isaac. Stiles’… cousin. Let me – I’ll show you around,” he says, smiling. He grabs Jeffrey by the arm and starts leading him around. Stiles slips into the kitchen and grabs the Febreeze, because he knows Derek, and he knows Derek’s going to notice the unfamiliar scent of a stranger, and Stiles’ own scent through the house. He follows Jeffrey and Isaac around, spritzing Febreeze here and there. Jeffrey looks at him like he’s nuts, and Isaac glares. He keeps sneezing every ten seconds.

“Well, that’s all,” Stiles says leading Jeffrey back to the door. “See ya later! Let me know how the interview turns out! Or don’t. Doesn’t bother me. Bye!” He pushes him out the door and falls against it when it shuts, breathing deeply. When he looks up, Isaac is grinning at him.

“You’re a _huge_ liar, Stiles! What, did you tell him your last name was Hale, too?” Stiles bites his lip. Isaac’s eyes widen and he punches Stiles in the shoulder. “I can’t even believe you.” 

Stiles shakes his head, “Shut up, Isaac.” He pushes him playfully. Isaac throws his arms around him. 

“You know,” Isaac says quietly, “Derek isn’t the only one you left behind when you went off to New York City.” 

Stiles chews on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” he finally offers, and Isaac pats him on the shoulder and hugs him again. 

++

There’s the annual Beacon Hills Street Fair and Stiles decides to go because the entire pack is meeting up, and Scott begged him to go. He shows up in a button down shirt that’s not tucked in and a nice pair of jeans. He finds Scott and Allison sitting at a picnic table, two children running around it in circles, and one wrapped up in Allison’s arms. Scott is drinking a beer and laughing at something one of the kids have said. He spots Stiles and jumps up, waving him over. “Hey, guys,” Stiles smiles, as the toddlers start crawling all over him. 

“Glad you could make it man,” Scott says, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Stiles nods as the rest of the pack comes over.

Erica wraps her arms around him. “Dance with me, Stilinski,” she says, and tugs him out towards the crowd that’s dancing to a Lynyrd Skynyrd cover band. 

“I suck at dancing,” Stiles whines as she pulls him along. 

“I thought a hotshot like you would’ve had to learn how to dance?” 

“I tend to avoid those types of things,” Stiles says, squinting in the setting sun. Erica starts giggling. 

“You would,” she says, and wraps her arms around his neck and starts moving him around. Stiles places his hands on her hips and smiles down at her. She smiles back and then lays her head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you, Stiles,” she whispers softly. “The whole damn town has.” 

Stiles swallows. “You know I couldn’t stay,” he whispers. Erica looks up at him. 

“You know he went to New York.” 

Stiles freezes, looks down at her. “He went to New York?” 

“About a year after you left. He just packed up, took off at the garage, and bought a ticket. I know his license always said he was from New York but you and I both know it was a fake ID. The furthest they made it out of Beacon Hills was some one horse town in Nevada, two hundred and thirty miles from Vegas. He’s never been to a big city. He said it was beautiful. Said he really understood why you headed out there.” 

Stiles doesn’t say anything, just clutches Erica’s hips a little tighter, and they dance until the song ends. “I’m gonna go grab some peace and quiet,” Stiles tells her, gesturing up the road to where a little alleyway cuts down to where the cemetery is. Erica nods knowingly.

He makes his way to the cemetery and through it, to the one plot he has memorized. He stares down at his mother’s headstone blankly for five minutes before folding his legs under him and taking a seat on the ground. He sits there, legs tucked underneath him, thinking about his past. 

“Hey.” 

Stiles jumps, squeaking a little. He looks up to find Derek staring down at him with a little smile on his face. “Hey,” Stiles says softly. 

“What’re you doing all the way out here? Sure as hell isn’t where the party is.” Derek looks at him, concerned, nodding back in the direction of the street fair. 

“Needed a place to clear my head,” Stiles shrugs, glancing back at the headstone. He reaches out and runs a finger across the engravings. There’s total silence between the two of them for a couple minutes, and Stiles is surprised by how completely easy it is for them to fall into it. “Do you ever think about what could’ve been?” Stiles finally asks in a low voice. 

Derek seems to think about it for a moment. “All the time,” he finally says slowly. “I think about what would’ve happened if we hadn’t fought earlier that evening. I think about what would’ve happened if you’d given me a chance to explain. I think about you forgiving me.” 

“I’m so tired of being angry with you, Derek,” Stiles says, exhausted, scrubbing at his face. Being here, in the cemetery, being next to his mother’s headstone – Stiles never wishes his mother was here more than when he’s sitting next to her memory. “I don’t want to be angry with you; I don’t want to talk about that night.” 

“You know she was an alpha from another territory I was meeting, right?” Derek asks softly. Stiles snorts.

“Yeah, one who’s face you ended up eating.” 

“She drugged me,” Derek says loudly. 

Stiles turns and looks at him and says flatly, “What?” 

“She _drugged_ me. I never even thought twice about it. I got up to go to the restroom when you had called to ask me if I’d be coming home for dinner, and she used that time to slip something in my drink. Said she wanted me to get her pregnant so we’d have no choice but to become alliances. You showed up and she knew you were there, so she lunged in and just – kissed me.” 

Stiles laughs hollowly. “Why’d you let me go?” 

Derek shrugs. “You never wanted to be here, Stiles. You stayed here for me. I was holding you back. I knew I was losing you,” Derek laughs bitterly. “We were fighting so much and Jesus – you’re such a spitfire. Never belonged here in the first place, Stiles.” 

Stiles shakes his head. “You don’t know where I belonged, Derek. I – Jesus. Jesus, I had no idea.” 

Derek smiles thinly. “I know,” he says, and they look at each other for a long time, and Stiles’ bottom lip is trembling and his fingers are curling into his palms. He’s felt this feeling before. It’s the feeling right before Derek kisses him. It feels like he’s standing at the edge of a cliff, just about to take the fall and start soaring. And Derek always seems to catch him before he smashes against the ground. 

And Derek does kiss him. And Stiles falls, just like always, and it feels so normal and perfect. It’s nothing like kissing Ryan. Ryan’s kisses are soft and sweet and affectionate, where Derek’s are always full of fire and passion and love and need, the kind of kisses Stiles always loves so much. He finds himself with his arms wrapped around Derek’s neck, and Derek’s tongue licking into his mouth before he pulls away. “I can’t,” he chokes, shaking his head. “Derek, I can’t.” 

“I know,” he says again, with that same smile. And Stiles backs away, chokes on a dry sob. He walks back toward the street fair.

++

Derek’s heading out to the house after a long day when a car starts tailing him. He’s somewhat suspicious but keeps driving anyway. When he reaches the house he parks the car in the driveway, getting out. A tall, dark haired, suave man steps out of the expensive looking car parked across from him. He smiles and nods, and Derek arches a brow, nodding back at him before digging his keys out. Isaac is supposed to be waiting for him so they can head out to the bar for a few drinks. He heads up the porch stairs and the man follows him. Isaac opens the door just as Derek finds his keys. 

“Hey Derek,” he smiles. Then he notices the man. “Uh?” 

“Hi,” he finally says. “I’m looking for Stiles.” Derek gives him a confused look and purses his lips and glances at Isaac. He has a look of growing horror on his face and he shrinks back a little. “I’m Ryan?” The guy is saying. “Stiles’ fiancé? This is his house, right? The only house on the preserve?” 

“N –” 

“Yes,” Isaac says loudly. “Yes. I’m his – I’m Stiles’ cousin.” 

“You are,” Derek says flatly. 

“Yes,” Isaac nods quickly, eyeing Derek. He laughs nervously. “Come on, Derek. You know that.” 

“Right. I’m his cousin, too.” He turns to Ryan. “Stiles is out at the County Sheriff’s office, they’re having a fundraiser today. How about I take you there? I thought for certain we were talking about the same Stiles, but apparently not.” 

“There’s two Stiles in one town?” Ryan blinks. “That’s so… unusual.” 

“Isn’t it just?” Derek asks him as he turns back to glare and flash red eyes at Isaac. He’s the only one on the porch who can hear Isaac’s whimper. 

Ryan gets into Derek’s car and Derek peels out of there like a bat from hell. “So tell me about your Stiles,” Ryan says, just being polite. Derek smiles fondly out at the road, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. 

“He was something,” he says slowly. “A spitfire right from the beginning. Met him when he was sixteen. A hyper little shit who couldn’t stay on the same topic for more than two minutes, but smart as a whip. Mouthy as all hell, man. Loved to argue. Loved to get in trouble. I remember one night, he was seventeen, and there was this old warehouse. Thing was falling down and kids kept running around it and tripping over things, breaking their bones and stuff. The county was pissing around trying to decide whether to tear it down or not. Stiles – he – ” Derek breaks off, chuckling. “He was so mad because more kids were just gonna get hurt messing around out there, so one night he heads out there with a lighter and a few newspapers. The building was old, all wooden. Kinda like an old barn, so he figured it’d burn easily.

We’d all followed him out there to see if he’d get it to burn. Turns out there was an old barrel of gas sitting in the middle of the old barn, half full. Stiles played pitcher for the high school baseball team, and his aim with the newspaper was dead on, it the barrel dead center. Lit like a firecracker. Barely had time to grab him and pull him back before the barrel exploded. The whole building went down like a stack of cards before we’d even had time to get away. Stiles had never been more proud of himself. Thing is, the whole town knew Stiles had done it, because he’d complained about all the kids and animals getting hurt out there for a while. Mostly everyone was just proud of him. Even his damn dad. Little pyromaniac shit.” 

“Sounds like a hell of a guy,” Ryan says, grinning. “What happened to him?” 

Derek grips the steering wheel until it’s creaking under his fingers. “Oh, you know. He fell in love with some dumbass he argued with more than he talked with. Wound up stuck in this little town even though he was a genius, because the dumbass was stubborn and never wanted to leave. He asked for things, wanted kids and a dog, and the dumbass said he didn’t want them. Then one night after some fight about something stupid he went out looking for the dumbass and found him kissing some girl. Said he got tired of his shit.” Derek stares straight ahead. “The dumbass had it coming.” 

They pull into the Sheriff’s station just then. The little fundraiser has the entire town gathered in the parking lot, and it’s crowded, but Derek can pick out the sound of Stiles’ voice anywhere. He can hear him laughing with his dad and a few deputies. Derek turns the car off and nods at Ryan when they get out. He leads him towards Stiles, and Stiles turns just in time to see them coming, his eyes widening. 

“Ryan,” he squeaks. “What are you doing here?” 

“I came to surprise you!” Derek has to admit, he can see where Stiles would’ve fallen in love with Ryan. He’s the complete opposite of Derek himself. He’s warm where Derek is cold, affectionate, sweet, happy. His smiles seem to light up a room. 

“Well,” Stiles chuckles nervously, “you surprised me!” 

Derek shakes his head, laughing bitterly. “You and I,” he turns to Ryan, “are in love with two different people.” He takes one more look at Stiles, and then shakes his head again, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away. 

He’s got a flight to catch tomorrow morning anyway.

++

“Stiles?” Ryan asks, looking confused. Stiles swallows tightly. “What’s he talking about? He’s your cousin, isn’t he?” 

“I can explain,” Stiles says hastily. “He’s my husband.” 

“You married your cousin?” Ryan asks, his tone disbelieving. 

“No, no, he’s - I’m – my last name isn’t Hale,” Stiles finally says. Ryan stares at him. “It’s – I mean it was. For a while. A long time ago. When I was married to Derek. He’s not my cousin, he was my husband.”

“Stiles...” Ryan says slowly. “You’re Stiles the pyromaniac.” Stiles winces, but he nods. 

“You _lied,_ ” Ryan says. He starts walking away. Stiles follows after him. 

“No – I just – I can explain! This isn’t – this isn’t who I am anymore, Ryan. This isn’t what defines me! And I didn’t want it to define me anymore. I had to get away. Who wants a name like Stiles _Stilinski_ plastered across magazines? No one, Ryan. So I did what I had to.” 

Ryan whirls around. “I don’t even know you,” he says lowly. “I need to go, Stiles. Just, leave me alone.” 

++

“Really screwed it up, didn’t you, kid?” Stiles’ dad asks when they’re sitting at their kitchen table. Stiles slumps in his seat, shrugging. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

“What’re you apologizing to me for?” John asks him, looking at him curiously. “I’m not the one you hurt, Stiles. You used _Derek’s_ name, even though you told him you didn’t want it anymore.” 

Stiles scrubs at his face. “I know,” he groans. “Ugh. I know, okay? I screwed up. I just. I was so desperate and so angry and I hated him so _much._ ” 

“He’s not a bad kid, Stiles.” 

“Then why don’t you go and be his dad if he’s so great,” Stiles says, and John glares at him, a warning. He’s just about to say something when the doorbell rings. They eye each other before his dad gets up and goes to answer it. He hears talking in the foyer and walks out to find his dad and Ryan talking. “Ryan,” Stiles says, surprised. 

Ryan offers him a small smile. “I thought you’d be halfway back to New York by now,” Stiles whispers. 

“So did I,” Ryan says. “But I started thinking and… I was really rude back there, Stiles. I didn’t listen to your side of the story, I just assumed. And I – if you’ll still have me… I’d love to be your fiancé.” 

Stiles nods. “Ryan,” he says, clearing his throat. “This is my Dad, the Sheriff. You can just call him Sheriff, or John.” His dad rolls his eyes. “And this is my house. It’s where I grew up, where my mom and dad raised me. I didn’t grow up on the Preserve. Derek did, and that house is actually a remodel of his house that burnt down over a decade ago. And I used to hate this town but… but I thought maybe we could have the wedding here, Ryan?” he glances his at his dad, who is staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed. He coughs. 

His Dad looks at him. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I bet Marta across the street could manage to get the park free in time. Whole damn town will be showing up anyway,” he says gruffly. 

Stiles grins and turns to face Ryan. “What do you say?” he asks. 

“That sounds wonderful,” Ryan says warmly, and moves in to kiss him on the cheek. 

++

Stiles actually does have a company to run while planning the wedding, so he ends up having to go back to New York. He tries going out to visit Derek one time before he leaves, but he isn’t there. When he gets back to New York he tries calling him, leaves countless voicemails. But Derek never picks up, and he never calls back, and eventually Stiles gives up. He figures he’s apologized enough for now. 

Maybe he can stop in and see him when he gets back to California. 

Planning the wedding is extremely stressful because the Mayor is insisting on certain things, and has grown even pickier and has a newfound, reinforced hatred for Stiles after learning about the lies he’s told both her and Ryan. Stiles pastes a smile on his face and agrees with everything she says while secretly grinding his teeth. He’s probably going to end up needing severe dental work and he’s already warned Ryan he’ll be footing the bill. 

The Mayor wants the wedding to occur in June even though it won’t be at the Plaza like she originally wanted, so Stiles has to deal with a lot of planning in a somewhat little amount of time. Two hundred extra people are coming to town and Beacon Hills hasn’t seen something this big since Jackson Whittemore hired a big city lawyer to sue the school after they tried to suspend him from lacrosse games because of his D minus in English class during senior year. 

Stiles has reached a new breaking point, but he pushes past it because it’s his wedding day and he has to do these things so he can be happy on that day. 

Stiles flies out a week before Ryan does to finish some last minute things for the wedding that Marta needs help tying up on her end. He flies into San Francisco and has a two hour wait for his rental because they’re backed up. Scott had offered to come get him but Stiles hadn’t wanted him to have to worry about Allison needing the car while he was in San Francisco. 

He’s in the airport lobby staring at all the posters when something catches his eye. It’s an advertisement for a gallery, and the paintings shown look somewhat familiar. Stiles checks out the address and sees that it’s located really close to the airport. That’s when the clerk at the rental car desk tells him his car is ready, so he picks up his keys, shoves his luggage in the car and decides to stop at the gallery on the way out of the city. 

When he gets there the place is… well it’s crawling with art nerds and rich, sophisticated people looking for new decorations for their homes. Stiles takes in all the paintings hanging on the walls, and his jaw drops, eyed wide. He _knows_ these paintings. He’s seen them come alive before his very own eyes before. He’s been a _subject_ of these paintings before. He’s in love with every single painting in the gallery, wants to run his fingers across every one of them, like he’d done so many times to the one hanging over the mantel back when he and Derek had lived together. 

Movement catches his eye. He turns and sees Derek staring at him. His breath catches, and Derek slowly offers him a smile. “Derek –” 

“Since you’re here, you should uh – you should look around and… pick out something you like,” Derek says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thanks for uh… thanks for coming.” 

“Is this what you wanted to show –” 

“I’ll leave you to your shopping,” Derek tells him, and starts walking away again. Stiles finds himself trembling for no reason at all. 

++

There’s a storm brewing. 

Marta keeps muttering about it under her breath. She’s a full bodied woman from the southernmost part of Alabama, with the accent to show for it. In her 70s, she doesn’t take shit from anyone, but for some reason she’s had a soft spot for Stiles since he was a baby. She used to babysit him when his mom ran errands and she’d spoil him with cake and candy and ice cream, stuff him full of casseroles and deep fried chicken and mashed potatoes because she always thought he was too skinny. 

“Boy I’m tellin’ ya, this here’s a sign,” Marta says, crossing herself. Stiles heaves a sigh and smacks him across the head. “Don’t you go sighin’ at me young man. You ain’t never too old for me to pull out the switch and take it to your backside.” 

Stiles gives her a blinding grin. “Don’t I know it, Marta.” Marta gets a fond look on her face but stills hmmph’s at him before digging around in her purse and pulling out a handkerchief, wiping at her brow. 

“Damn humid out. Storm’s a brewin’,” she says again, and Stiles sighs sadly. 

She’s not wrong. 

“We’ll just have to hurry with the ceremony,” Stiles shrugs. Marta sniffs in disapproval.

“Ain’t no hurryin’ a wedding, and there ain’t no hurryin’ God. God takes his time. This storm’ll get here when he wants it here and if he wants it here when you’re ‘bout to pledge your love to a man you don’t even love, that’s when it’ll get here.” 

“Marta, I told you, I _love_ Ryan.” 

Marta clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “I see you got no better at lyin’ through your teeth young man,” she says, and then disappears to go yell at the caterers moving things into the recreational hall. 

Stiles gets dressed in his tux and stares at himself in the mirror. His dad is standing next to him, straightening Stiles’ tie repeatedly. “Am I doing the right thing?” Stiles asks quietly. 

John pauses. Then he says slowly, “Guess that depends on what you think is the right thing, Stiles. Do you think the right thing is to follow your heart? Or follow your head. Sometimes they don’t always match up, y’know.” His dad taps the side of his head and winks. 

Stiles smiles. 

Stiles has it all planned out that Ryan walks down the aisle first and Stiles follows shortly after. Therefore no one is really the bride or anything. Ryan has just made it down the aisle and Stiles has reached the halfway point when there’s shouting. “Mr. Hale! Mr. Hale! Stiles!” Stiles whirls around. Murmuring starts in the crowd, and thunder cracks in the distance three times. Stiles hears Marta’s voice in his head saying, _three miles out. Storm’s three miles out._

“Mr. Jones?” Stiles squints. The security guards tackle Stiles’ lawyer, who is frantically trying to get his attention. “Let him up,” Stiles shouts, and the guards let him up, and Mr. Jones stands up and straightens his suit out, striding forward. 

“I have been trying to get ahold of you for three weeks,” Mr. Jones hisses. “Then I get here and no one seems to want to tell me where you are.” He seems to glare in Danny and Greenberg’s direction, and they blink innocently when Stiles looks at them. 

“Well what’s the problem?” Stiles whispers. 

“Stiles, you can’t get married, because you’re already married.” 

“For god’s sake, Stiles, I thought you took care of this,” Ryan hisses. Stiles glares at him. 

“I did. Mr. Jones, he signed the papers.” 

“He did,” Mr. Jones points, “but you didn’t.” Stiles stares down at the divorce papers, frozen, looking at the spot where his signature should be. 

“Oh, God,” he says, but it sounds somewhat blurry to him. “Well, what do I have to do? Can this still happen today?” Mr. Jones nods. 

“Just sign the papers and you can get married, and it’ll be like I’ve never been here,” he tells Stiles. 

“Anybody have a pen?” Stiles calls, glancing around. People start searching through their pockets and their purses, but no one comes up with anything. Finally, Marta stands and slowly makes her way towards Stiles, holding out a BIC pen. It’s the same pen she uses for the crosswords she does on the bus every morning. 

“God always has a plan for you, Stiles Stilinski,” she tells him as she hands him the pen. “This ain’t just happenin’ for some giggles.” Then she makes her way back to her seat. 

Stiles uncaps the pen, but his hand hovers over the signature line. His fingers are shaking so hard the pen is wavering back and forth. His eyes are filling with tears. He’s still _married_ to Derek. He could still have a _life_ with Derek. They could have kids and dog and a life, and now Stiles knows that Derek wants those things, that he was just trying to make sure Stiles had a better life. 

“Ryan,” Stiles whispers. 

When he looks up, Ryan already has a knowing look in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I just. I love you,” Stiles says shakily. “But not enough. Please, I’m sorry. I’ll understand if you’re angry.” 

Ryan shakes his head. He steps forward. “A love like the one you had comes once in a lifetime,” he whispers to Stiles. He leans in and kisses him on the cheek. “You shouldn’t let it go if you don’t have to. Have a nice life, Stiles Stilinski.” 

“You too, Ryan.” 

And Ryan walks away. 

Stiles swallows. The thunder cracks once. _A mile away,_ he thinks. And suddenly he knows where Derek is. “I gotta go,” he says loudly. He can hear Ryan’s mother swearing at him, but he chooses to ignore it. Until she says, “Dragged us all to this stupid little hick town, with your uneducated father as the Sheriff.” Stiles freezes. Marta has sneakily trying to take a sip out of her flask, but Stiles snatches it out of her hands and dumps it over the Mayor’s head. 

“ _Nobody_ talks about my town like that,” Stiles says. “Especially not about my father.” 

Scott stands up and starts clapping, and his father is rubbing at his face, embarrassed. “Lordy hallelujah the boy is back,” Marta shouts. 

“I gotta go get my husband,” Stiles tells his dad, and his dad holds out the keys to his patrol car. 

Stiles finds himself speeding down the main road in town towards the cutoff to the preserve, lights flashing. The storm has hit, and it’s pouring rain. Stiles reaches the Preserve right before it becomes impossible to see. He pulls up into the Hale driveway and runs around to the back, glancing up. 

He was right. 

Derek’s sat with a brush and canvas studying the storm coming down around the house, flooding the yard, watching as it pounds into the manmade pond. His lips are parted. He’s concentrating, but Stiles knows that he knows Stiles is there. 

“Where’s your husband?” Derek finally asks. 

“Seems I’m looking at him,” Stiles shouts up. Derek freezes. 

“What’re you talking about? I signed your damn papers.” 

“Yeah well. Seems I didn’t. Looks as if you’re stuck with me, Hale.” 

“What do you wanna be a Hale for anyhow?” Derek shouts down at him. 

Stiles pauses. “Just so you’re mine,” he shouts back up at him, and suddenly Derek is climbing over the balcony, swinging down. He lands in front of Stiles. 

“Yeah? What about me?” 

“I’m yours too,” Stiles whispers, and then Derek’s mouth is on his, and it’s wet and sloppy and desperate and Stiles doesn’t mind one bit. 

\+ 

The entire pack, Marta, and Stiles’ father are waiting for them at the Hale house. Marta has somehow managed to get the caterers to bring the food into the kitchen and is instructing them on where to put things, and Allison and Erica have somehow managed to hang decorations throughout the house. And there, in the middle of the living room, hanging over the fireplace, is the painting, just like always. Stiles smiles at the watercolor painted forest, the wolf hidden in between trees, and then turns and smiles at Derek. 

“’Bout damn time you got here,” Marta says, coming over and planting a smacking, lipstick staining kiss on Stiles’ cheek, before doing the same to Derek. Stiles notices Derek can’t stop grinning, and laughs, because this is the happiest he’s ever been.

Besides his first wedding day. 

He guesses it’s okay to be just as happy on his second wedding day to the same man. 

__

finis.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe they move to New York or maybe they move back and forth. Maybe they have kids, and maybe Derek keeps painting, but they always challenge each other and that's what counts. 
> 
> That and Stiles still keeps blowing buildings up. 
> 
> if you're interested you can find me on tumblr @ dylanobilinski.


End file.
